


Telliusstuck

by cthchewy (pyrrhic_victoly)



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn, Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Politics, Post-Radiant Dawn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6437170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victoly/pseuds/cthchewy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of connected scenes about the Homestuck crew on Tellius.</p><p>Dave is a cute baby crow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. not a heron

Dave is _not a heron_. Anyone who’s ever met a real heron would know. Besides the fact that all herons have old-timey names in the ancient language, they also have this weird sheen to their hair and feathers, and being in the presence of one feels almost like being in the presence of a high-level mage. Herons are _magical_ , okay? Delicate bodies, bewitching voices. Galdrar, even for those herons who can not or will not sing any longer, is engraved into their very _bones_.

How could anyone think Dave, even with his odd coloring, could be a heron? He opens his peasant mouth and laughs harshly – kraw ka-kaw!

It happens every so often in beorc and laguz alike. Once in a blue moon, a child will be born with white skin and hair regardless of the coloring of his or her parents. The beorc vary in their attitudes toward the white ones. In some places they are shunned; in others, they are said to be gifts from the goddess.

Among the laguz, for whom strength is pride, it is never a good thing. The sun is harsher on the eyes of the white ones, so they must squint or wear protective coverings. It’s a weakness, a defect. It is not welcome. (The herons do not feel this way, of course, but when have herons ever been like other laguz?)

Dave remembers the harshness of Kilvas; remembers his younger self thinking how unsuited he was to life as a laguz warrior. He remembers being told, “Sorry, squirt, your mother died in the last raid,” though he doesn’t remember his mother’s face. Still, there was beauty in Kilvas. The austere castle, the pirates with their thieves’ code of honor. Jagged spires and salt spray. Mountains in the mist.

Phoenicis is no better. The islands are warmer and the people better-fed, but the feeling of being different becomes more pronounced. King Tibarn and his hawks put on a show of welcoming their raven brethren into the fold, though everyone knows centuries of strife can’t be overcome just like that. The Bird Tribe hasn’t so much become reunited as the ravens have been subjugated by the hawks.

To the ravens he’s a weak off-color fledgling. To the hawks he’s a weak off-color _raven_ fledgling. All the more pitiable.

Nealuchi notices, of course. The old crow is crafty, far from the doddering fool he likes to play when it suits him. So when it comes time to pick fledglings to send to Serenes for education as is the custom of the Bird Tribe, the hawks choose their strongest, most promising children. And the ravens send Dave, their weakest.

This would have been seen as an outrage, an insult to the herons, and the hawks certainly thought so. So too would the ravens, had they not been convinced of Nealuchi’s dedication to protecting the herons. But herons are not hawks; herons are not ravens. Herons, for some inexplicable bird-brained reason, think of all the youngsters sent to them as baby herons who just can’t sing.

Dave likes Serenes forest, really. _Everyone_ likes Serenes because the herons are _magical_. The herons and their retainers teach history, geography, and the Old Tongue. Dave doodles erotica over his maps and abuses the language of his forefathers to write the galdr equivalent of bawdy tavern tunes. This amuses no one but Princess Leanne.

Shortly thereafter, Dave is banned from writing any more _blasphemous filth_ , and Leanne is forbidden to sing any of his creations, at least not in public. She does, however, save a few of his more inspired works to share with Naesala when he comes to visit.

Naesala is Dave’s favorite among his fellow ravens, for all that he has had no dealings with the former King Kilvas since he was a nestling. It’s because while the others were either bemoaning his congenital weaknesses or praising (festishizing) how those very same faults made him fragile like a heron, Naesala had never thought him weak at all. The elder raven had but glanced at Dave and said, “There are other ways to be strong.”

That was the day Dave began to take pride in his heritage as a raven of Kilvas. It was when he began to look up to Naesala, as most ravens do. And, king or no, Dave looks up to Naesala still.

Naesala drops by as part of a diplomatic convoy from Begnion. He probably doesn’t even remember Dave; he’s only here to see Leanne. That doesn’t stop Dave from sneaking into the Begnion camp and stuffing himself into a chest of ladies’ robes.

They make it to the edge of the forest before a sudden bump in the road causes Dave to give away his position. “Caw!” The lid of the overstuffed trunk comes flying off. The convoy stops, beorc men and women getting out to pick up fallen belongings. They gasp when they spot him and crowd around, shouting and gesturing for Naesala, who approaches with eyes narrowed.

“Back to the forest with you, nestling.” 

Dave meets the former king’s glare head-on, though his eyes are narrowed against the sun rather than to intimidate. “Hell no. I’m coming with you.”

The first time a beorc asks if he’s a heron, Dave caws in her face.


	2. your chick is following me

Naesala’s mind and his sense of self have been in shambles since the war began, or perhaps even before. When he is alone with no acts to put on, he can admit to himself that he hasn’t known his true heart since those childhood days in Serenes. Since before the herons were massacred.

It is only the herons who have the luxury to judge men by their intentions, and among the herons only Leanne who tells him, “Don’t ask me for forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive, not when all you have ever done has been for the good of your people.”

Leanne is biased. Naesala protected her during their youth, and she has never gotten over her crush on him. It blinds her from seeing his _actions_ , and it is only fair to judge by actions, for none but the herons can peer inside the hearts of others.

By his actions, Naesala is a monster. Cold, ruthless, sharp, cunning. A traitor. He has much to atone for. Leanne would love him regardless, but Naesala is a coward, and he cannot forgive himself. He is unfit to give her happiness while he still hates himself so much. So he does what he does best. He runs.

Abdicating the throne is easy – he never wanted it anyway. What is he, without the throne? Just an abnormally clever raven. Nationless, he serves as a neutral party for peace talks, border disputes, trade agreements and the like. Begnion and Serenes have the most use for him as a diplomat, but then Daein and Phoenicis begin to enlist his aid, and then Crimea, and then Gallia... Soon Naesala is flying across the continent on a regular basis, never stopping anywhere for too long. Just running, running, running away from himself.

After a routine visit to Serenes, he acquires an unwanted hitchhiker. The Kilvan population has never been so large that Naesala could overlook the birth of a _white raven_. Of course he remembers this particular nestling, just as he remembers Nealuchi babbling to him about sending Dave to the herons to help the poor thing find a gentler place to belong. He glares down; the boy glares back and refuses to leave.

Dave takes to perching on top of the caravans. He even makes a nest of straw and snuggles into it in shifted form. The beorc ladies, whom Naesala was accompanying on their religious pilgrimage from Sienne to Serenes and back, take to petting and cooing over the little bird and slipping him sweets. Naesala is secretly impressed by this show of raven cunning, but not enough to keep Dave by his side.

In a settlement just on the other side of the Miscale River, he pens a note:

_Leanne,_   
_Your chick is following me. Please be prepared to take him back on my next visit._   
_Naesala_

A response is waiting for him by the time the convoy reaches Sienne. (Naesala is pretending that Dave has not already made another nest out of Naesala’s clothes on Naesala’s windowsill.)

_Naesala,_   
_The chick is yours. You may consider it practice for when we are married and have chicks of our own._   
_Leanne_

_When_ we are married, she says. When, not if. Included with this letter is “Nealuchi’s Guide to Proper Care of Nestlings”.

By the time Naesala has gotten over the shock, Empress Sanaki has been spotted attending meetings with a white raven in her lap where other ladies would have lapdogs. Sanaki’s smile is disgustingly smug. Dave’s smile is disgustingly earnest and proud.

Naesala catches Dave striding after him, mimicking his poise, his gestures, his pokerface, even the impassively condescending drawl he uses to speak to corrupt nobles. And by then it’s too late to get rid of Dave. Naesala can do nothing but resign himself to being shadowed, _hero-worshiped_ by this foolhardy boy. He tries to feel annoyed, but finds only amusement and grudging affection.

The fates are conspiring to keep Naesala from punishing himself too much. He does not like this, not one bit.


	3. friends (adventures of a lapcrow)

Dave is used to not having any friends his age. Laguz are notorious for following their instincts even when they ought to stop and think, and yes that’s a horrible stereotype, but it’s mostly true. The Branded, those who have both beorc and laguz heritage, are shunned by other laguz who can smell something “different” about them. In Dave’s case, his peers just had to look at him to think “you’re not like us, go away”.

Dave has never met a Branded, but he thinks he knows a little bit of what it’s like to be that kind of outcast. He’s pretty sure he would be able to tell if he ever crossed paths with one, and he vows not to be mean to them over something as silly as uncontrollable circumstances of birth. (He reserves the right to be mean to them if they are jerks.)

After his mother died, Dave was handed over as a ward of the Kilvan state. Orphaned nestlings and fledglings were raised communally in the castle by those elderly ravens who could no longer fight. Grandmas and grandpas. Boring. Dave often snuck out at night to hang with the pirates, which wasn’t as dangerous as it sounded. (His mother had been a pirate. The average working-class raven was a pirate, after all.) Sometimes the odd beorc ship was allowed to dock on Kilvas, so the beorc sailors and the raven pirates would party together, and Dave would learn _twice_ as many raunchy sea ballads!

The pirates were cool, but they still weren’t the same as having _friends_. That’s part of the reason he’s so anxious as he follows Naesala into the heart of Sienne, the capital of Begnion. Sienne is the _largest city in the world_. There will be a friend for him here, surely.

Naesala has quarters in Mainal Cathedral, home of Empress Sanaki. They owe each other much from the war. It’s a bond created from too many back-and-forth life-debts. Though Naesala has not sworn allegiance to any single nation after the dissolution of Kilvas, he has set up his base of operations in Sienne out of convenience. Begnion is the largest nation on the continent and shares its borders with every other nation. And the Empress owes him. That’s important, too.

At first, Dave is too overwhelmed by the architecture and everything else about his new surroundings to realize that Naesala has dumped him in the cathedral and gone back to work… _without Dave_. But then he figures that’s all right. Naesala likes strong-willed and independent people, so Dave will just show him that having a little brother around is not a burden at all!

This is how he first meets Empress Sanaki – by wandering the cathedral until he bumped into a child his own age. Sanaki doesn’t hold herself like a child at all; Dave realizes his mistake almost immediately. Of course he’d heard the Empress was young, but he hadn’t expected her to be a kid like him. She was beorc, so appeared slightly older than him, but that didn’t account for how mature she acted.

“So I take it you’ve never had any friends either?” he asks. This is probably not a very polite thing to say right after making introductions to the most powerful person in the most powerful country in the world, but curiosity outweighs tact.

Sanaki smiles ruefully. “I have retainers, advisors, and guards,” she says. “Some of them might arguably pass as friends, such as Naesala. I assume he is your benefactor.”

“Being Empress sounds tough. I bet your guards never let you sneak out by yourself, huh.”

“That would be ill-advised. It would be highly irresponsible of me to make myself vulnerable to assassination attempts just for some ‘alone time’. The stability of an entire nation is at stake.”

“The whole world too, right? ‘Cuz Begnion is so powerful and all. And it’s like, the people around you don’t realize why you’d want to be _normal_ sometimes because you’re _special_ already. Shit, that sucks.”

“You just swore in front of the Empress.”

“Oh ffffudge. I was raised by pirates. Please don’t kill me. Uh, I mean, O Mighty Empress, forgive this country bumpkin for his lack of manners!”

Sanaki smiles, and she is very smug, and very evil. “Well, I wouldn’t want to upset Naesala. Perhaps you would accept a bargain?”

That day Sanaki attends her first Senate meeting with her white lapcrow. Dave in shifted form is nowhere near as big as a full-grown laguz, but he’s still too big to be a normal bird. He covers her entire lap like a turkey. It’s obvious to all but the least observant that the Empress has brought a juvenile laguz to an official meeting, which is just as planned. There was no way she was going to pass up an opportunity to make the Senators sweat.

When questioned, she refers to him as her “assistant” who will be helping her take notes on the meeting, and this is not entirely a lie. Sanaki quickly discovers that Dave has a knack for poetry which is only eclipsed by his knack for mocking stupid Senators. He silently scritches his creations into her knee with a gentle talon. Sanaki has never had a friend pass secret notes to her in class before. The feeling is exhilarating.

Sigrun doesn’t approve, but Sanaki tells her stalwart guard to relax, she knows what she’s doing. And indeed, after the first time Sigrun witnesses Sanaki burst into giggles as soon as they make it back to her private chambers, she can’t bring herself to oppose this friendship. This small taste of childhood comes too little, too late, but it’s still better than nothing.

Dave is proud of himself for having made his very first friend. The _Empress_ , no less! She’s maybe a little too mature for him, maybe a little too smart for him, but he loves her nonetheless. Bolstered by this victory, he tells Sanaki that he’s going to check out the rest of the city very soon, and he will tell her all about his adventures. Someday he will convince Naesala to let him come along on diplomatic missions to other countries, and he’ll tell her all about those, too.

Sure, Sanaki has been to all those places herself, and sure, she’s read histories and poetic accounts from all around the world. But none of those tales are about the common folk as told by the common folk, and stories are different when coming from a friend. None of those tales are told from the eyes of children, and that makes all the difference.


	4. rivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in Crimea... Tavros feels.

As he lies flat on his back, breath knocked out of him from the last fall, Tavros can’t help but think that he didn’t sign up for this sort of humiliation.

Tavros is not afraid of hard work. _Of course_ he knew being a knight wouldn’t be easy! Especially for someone like him, who didn’t come from a long line of knights, and who wasn’t naturally strong or fast or skilled… He has a bum leg. The only reason he was accepted as a trainee was because of his high aptitude with horses, and how he’d convinced the recruiters that he wouldn’t need to worry about his legs during mounted combat. 

Ha. How stupid. As if he would ever be allowed to forget about his shortcomings. Even as Tavros thinks of how much he wants to go home, he’s getting up again, biting at his lips as he wipes the tears away, pretending that they’re sweat.

The Crimean Royal Knights are an elite force – the greatest cavalry in the known world. Their ranks were decimated at the beginning of the Mad King’s War, and even after gaining many new recruits their numbers are few compared to the armies of other nations. However, each and every member is trained to a standard no other nation can match. That’s what the knights themselves say, but honestly their battle record says it all. The current roster is filled with war heroes; people whose names will not be forgotten by history.

Then there’s Tavros, who already aches all over on his second day as a trainee. The beds in the barracks are thin and lumpy, the food is edible but nowhere near what he’s used to having at Rufioh’s tavern, he keeps getting knocked down and losing every practice match he’s been given and Rufioh isn’t there to tell him it’s okay and _he wants to go home_. He wants to scrub dishes at the tavern. He wants to pet the knights’ horses when they ride in for drinks. He wants to tell his past self not to fall for their stories of courage and chivalry.

“One last match,” Tavros whispers to himself. “I can do it… Just one more.”

It’s the last match of the day. If he loses this one, he’ll have lost every match for two days straight. And if that happens, he’ll quit and laugh it off. There’s no shame in being a civilian, right? Rufioh’s a civilian and Tavros thinks his brother is the coolest person ever. Sometimes some people just aren’t able to do certain things. It’s not shameful. It’s not shameful if he fails as long as he gave it his all. Tavros wipes more tears and pretends they’re dust.

The next round is called; the trainees shuffle to find their new partners. Tavros looks to see who it is, and… yeah. Great. Just his luck. Karkat has _not_ lost a single match in two days. Everyone knows about Karkat. They’d all been gossiping about him after his crazy win streak the first day, so Tavros knows Karkat’s been winning because Sir Oscar had found him during some of the knight’s extra mercenary work, and so Sir Oscar had already trained him some. Sir Oscar, who was pretty much the Biggest Damn Hero out of all the Big Damn Heroes currently enlisted in the Crimean Royal Knights. 

Tavros is screwed. This revelation doesn’t bother him as much as it would have if he hadn’t already resolved to go out with a bang.

Karkat bows and readies his practice sword. Tavros returns the gesture and readies his lance. He takes an extra moment to assess his opponent. Karkat is one of the shortest trainees in their regiment – shorter than most of the girls even – but his build is solid and well-muscled. His greatest asset is his speed; he prefers to dodge rather than block or parry. He always keeps a bandana around his neck that… hmm.

Tavros’ mind is racing so fast, so busy concocting a strategy that he almost doesn’t notice sub-commander Kieran coming to cheer for him. Sir Kieran has been cheering for every one of Karkat’s opponents, and one would think that to be horribly rude – the second in command of the Royal Knights picking on a greenhorn – except he’s only doing so to get at Sir Oscar.

“You’ll see, you squinty-eyed fiend! This strapping young lad will defeat your squire posthaste! A true rivalry shall be born this day, one as enduring and passionate as ours!” Sir Kieran shouts, passionately as always.

Sir Oscar ignores him. He says instead, “Remember your footing, Karkat.”

The match begins, Karkat rushing in to strike first. Tavros barely has time to block. He steps back, trying to keep Karkat at bay with the longer reach of his lance.

“Ignoring me? Hah! That is just the sort of action one would only resort to when one can no longer argue one’s case! This round shall be mine, Oscar!”

“But… Kieran, we’re not actually the ones fighting.”

“…Oh. Go! Trounce him! You can do it, er, young lad… What is this young lad’s name?”

“Tavros, sir,” the match officiator says.

“Tavros, yes! Fight, Tavros! Your burning will shall scorch all foes who stand before ye!”

Oscar puts his head in his hands. Karkat scowls deeper. Tavros lets the shouting pass over him; he hasn’t heard a single thing Sir Kieran has said. It isn’t the first time he’s successfully read an opponent, but it’s the first time he knows exactly what he has to do.

He lowers his stance for a charge and runs with all his might, eyes and lance pointed solely at his target, at Karkat’s neck. Karkat dodges, as planned, and the dull tip of Tavros’ practice lance rips right through the bandana.

Karkat falls backward in shock, dropping his weapon as his hand immediately goes to cover his neck. His eyes are wild as he scans around for people who’ve _seen_ , who _know_. The other trainees are busy with their own matches, and he’s not so worried about Oscar and Kieran. The biggest threat now is… is Tavros.

Tavros, who snatches up the fallen fabric and shoves it back at Karkat. “S-sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean t-to, or, I mean, I _did_ , but I thought it was like, a s-scar or something, that you were vain about…” Tavros’ voice drifts into a whisper toward the end.

“Ha ha ha! Well done, my lad!” Kieran busts in to save the day through obliviousness. “Tavros, yes? What say you take on the honor of being my squire? Come, I shall teach you all there is to know about keeping the edge over your eternal rival!”

“It would, uh, be an honor, sir?” Tavros is overwhelmed by the booming laughter and passionate back slaps. Everything is happening too quickly! He _won_ , but _Karkat_ , and now Sir Kieran wants him as squire!

Karkat hastily re-ties his bandana. Tavros sees Sir Oscar murmur something to Karkat, so he assumes at least one other person knows about Karkat’s secret. Still, as Sir Kieran shoves him along, Tavros cranes his head over his shoulder and meets Karkat’s eyes. He mouths, “I won’t tell.”


	5. father and son

Karkat’s first memories are of his father rocking him to sleep, humming old Begnion lullabies under his breath. Now that he is old enough to understand how the world works, he knows that the man he thought of as his father was not his blood sire. That knowledge makes the man’s story all the more remarkable.

Karkat is Branded. The mark of his tainted blood is displayed clearly across his throat, a collar chaining him to his wretched fate. His birth parents must have abandoned him when they realized their child was cursed. Karkat can imagine them, faceless and heartless in his mind, arguing over whose side of the family held the stain of beast blood. Perhaps they hadn’t the resolve to murder him with their own hands. Perhaps they feared if they left him somewhere in town, someone would recognize the babe as theirs. Either way, he’d been left to die at the Gallian border, as many branded children are, his disappearance possibly blamed on an attack by “savage beasts”. And yet.

He’d been saved. This in itself is not so uncommon. Plenty of beorc mistake the brand for the mark of a spirit charmer; plenty more are kind enough to shelter innocent children regardless of race. Karkat’s father, however, had been _laguz_.

He wasn’t a perfect man. The old cat had always screeched and yowled over every little thing. He was stubborn, antagonistic, and pessimistic. He was mistrustful of everyone, beorc and laguz alike, believed them all to be out to get him, and raised Karkat to think the same. He had also been a slave for most of his life.

Laguz slavery had already been outlawed in Begnion when he’d escaped, but the new laws had just pushed the slavers underground. His masters had refused to break his chains, so he’d broken them himself and gone west to Gallia – homeland of the Beast Tribe. A lifetime in the company of beorcs had left him completely ignorant of Gallian customs, which was why he’d thought it strange that the other beasts pretended the branded did not exist; ignored them to the point of leaving infants to die and their corpses to be picked over by vultures… all because they _smelled different_.

He’d taken Karkat across the border to Crimea, Gallia be damned.

Karkat mourns his father every day. Where once he had cursed the bandits for not taking his life as well, and cursed the mercenaries for saving him, he’s now turned his energies to bettering himself. He’s not a bad fighter; he’d taken down three bandits with nothing but a rusty sickle. The mercenaries were impressed, and offered him the kind of opportunities he could only dream of. 

Karkat is going to be a knight. He’s going to fight for truth and justice and all those things his father didn’t believe in because he was too afraid to dream. Karkat is going to make his father proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My habit of slipping in Crabdad cameos every-fucking-where strikes again! Although, I guess he's Catdad now?


	6. cahoots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Begnion, Dave officially becomes a secretarybird.

It didn’t take long for the Senators and other government officials to catch on that “Sanaki’s bird” was going to be a common sight during meetings. They began their subtle questionings into his origins, and while Sanaki kept them guessing for a while, eventually it was no longer in good taste to keep it a secret. (According to Tanith, it was never in good taste.)

Naesala drags Dave to Sanaki’s office, saying, “The empress is busy, so this will be quick.” Sanaki and Naesala hatch a plan. The two most devious people Dave (and possibly the world) has ever known get together to plot his future. His fate is sealed within five minutes. That is how smoothly their cahoots system runs. 

The plan goes like this: Dave will attend a meeting unshifted, Sanaki is to introduce him as one of her personal staff, and Naesala will officially claim Dave as his heir to stave off rumors of the empress picking birds off the street. The noble ladies who went on pilgrimage to Serenes will unknowingly be recruited to provide gossip on Dave being charming and sweet. Beyond that, names are dropped that Dave doesn’t recognize, and unknown events are scheduled for unknown times. Sanaki and Naesala speak in some sort of abbreviated cahoots-code that he can’t decipher.

Dave can only stand on the sidelines, mouth hanging open in awe as he witnesses the absolute efficiency with which they plan to manipulate hundreds of people – with a ripple effect in public opinion that could potentially reach tens of thousands – all For The Greater Good. Goddess, his bro is so cool. He wants to grow up to be like that _so bad_.

The commander and deputy commander of the Begnion Holy Guard are also in attendance at this impromptu plotting session. Dave knows that the Pegasus knights don’t have training today simply due to the fact that no flying horses streaked past his window when he got up in the morning, but apparently that just means Tanith and Sigrun have more time to stand around the empress in full battle dress, looking menacing. Well, Tanith looks outright menacing. Sigrun looks like a kind and caring mother with a very sharp spear.

Sanaki’s guards are used to overhearing her genius political strategies. In some cases they’re a part of them. They just roll their eyes and sigh knowingly, exactly as expected from someone indulging a little sister. Despite appearing the fiercer of the two, it’s Tanith who ruffles Dave’s hair. She says, rather gruffly, “You’ll get there someday.”

(Dave really hopes so. He also makes a note to fly with the Pegasus knights sometime.)

So Dave has a job now, sort of. He’s one of the empress’ personal scribes. Every parliamentary meeting of course has an official scribe who documents the issues raised and decisions made. Sanaki’s _personal_ scribe is a position she insists is necessary for taking notes of only those issues the empress deems worthy of her time. She’s a very busy woman! The official scribe’s notes are all well and good for archival purposes, but do any of you really think the empress should be made to wade through all that babble? For shame!

In truth, Sanaki’s memory is good enough that she doesn’t need anyone to take notes for her. She’s long been in the practice of recalling important events and taking note of them herself after each meeting. It’s _Dave_ who they’ve planned to train this way. Since Dave has repeatedly refused offers to return to Serenes or Phoenicis, he might as well start learning all about Begnion’s finest invention: bureaucracy.


	7. sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was fluff and crack... now politics and angst. ;^;

Ready…

Set…

Zoom!

Roxy gasps in indignation. The little crow is a _cheat_. 

She pulls on the reins, signaling for Maplehoof to rise into the sky. With one, two, three powerful wingbeats, her Pegasus begins giving chase. Roxy presses herself down for speed, Maplehoof’s windswept mane tickling her nose. This race is a test of pure speed, and so, weaponless, she hangs on with both hands.

They zip around the cathedral, over courtyards, dodging between tall spires. Roxy keeps her eyes on the course and the white bird flying but a few handspans ahead.

“Imma beat you, cheater!” she calls to the crow. A snarky caw is his only response.

Below, Rose clutches her tome more firmly to her chest as her sister races past in a strong gust of wind. Her robes and short hair whip about; she looks up at the competitors, seeing golden lines stretching out in front of them – the best paths to take in order to achieve victory.

She blinks, and the lines are gone. The wind is gone. The other clerics-in-training have gone on without her. Rose, as they know, is eccentric and prone to visions as magical prodigies often are. She shuffles the Light tome into one hand and uses the other to pick up her robes. Dashing down the rest of the steps, Rose rejoins the other students once more.

That evening, at the sprawling Lalonde estate, Dame Lalonde asks her daughters about their day. Roxy launches into a dramatic retelling of her victory against her latest rival.

“And I know ravens are like the fastest laguz ever, but oh man I never actually knew how _fast_ they were, but I still totally won.”

“Against a juvenile who, if my books are correct, is small for his age.”

“Aw, Rosie, don’t rain on my parade. I outflew a raven!”

“ _And_ he’s an albino. Albinism is known to affect a person’s health in many ways. I’ve no doubt he was nearly blinded by the midday sun.”

Their mother chuckles, interrupting before the sisters can escalate their bickering. “And how was _your_ day, Rose?”

Rose answers primly. “It was fine. Adequate.”

“ _Adequate_ , she says! Nyeh!” Roxy sticks her tongue out.

“It is a word, dearest sister, unlike ‘nyeh’.” Rose returns the immature gesture while attempting to keep a straight face. She fails utterly, and they both end up giggling into their dinner rolls.

Long after the meal is finished, long after their mother retires to her quarters, Rose sits hunched over her desk, completely absorbed in yet another book on magical theory. A lone candle flickers beside her.

Two soft raps on the door interrupts her studies. Roxy slides in before she finishes saying “come in”, and pads softly to the bed, sitting down with her knees tucked under her chin.

“Rosie, go to bed!” she whispers loudly.

“At risk of sounding like an absolute child, no _you_ go to bed!”

Roxy muffles her snort into her knees. Silence stretches between them, punctuated only by the scratching of Rose’s quill on paper as she continues her studies.

“Just ask,” Rose says, never once looking up from her work. “Whatever it is, get it over with.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Roxy unloads her thoughts. “What you said at dinner… About Dave being blind? What did you mean by that?”

“People and animals who are all white like Dave tend to have sensitive eyes. From what little I’ve seen of him, he seems to squint in the sunlight.”

“Mm, yeah, I kinda thought that’s what you were getting at, so I was thinking… Since he’s my friend and all now… Do you think he could use a visor? Like the eye-covering things blacksmiths use. I could ask John to get one for him.”

Rose tenses at the mention of John. She finally sets her quill down and turns to regard her sister. “Roxy… I don’t think you should meet with John anymore. You need to stop making excuses to see him.”

“Wow, _rude_. How racist can you get, sis?”

Ignoring the jab, Rose continues. “You are heir to House Lalonde and likely future Captain of the Begnion Holy Guard--”

“I’m not even a full knight yet!”

“-- _personally_ being trained by Captain Sigrun as a potential successor. You can _not_ afford to throw away your future prospects by dallying with a low-born laguz--”

“Stop it, just– It’s not like that!”

“--opinions are slow to change, and such scandalous behavior will not be tolerated by the Senate. They will label you unfit for duty and remove you from the Empress’ side, which tarnishes the name of our entire House--”

“I don’t need you to lecture me!” Roxy rushes out of her sister’s room, tears threatening to form at the corners of her eyes.

Rose breathes in. One beat, two beats. She blows out the candle and continues to sit in the darkness, alone but for her thoughts.

House Lalonde is matriarchal, with a long history of service to the Begnion Holy Guard. Dame Roxanne, their mother, had been captain before Sigrun. The elder members of the guard still defer to her judgment in many things; in hard times, Sigrun seeks her mentor’s advice even to this day.

The eldest daughter of House Lalonde is, as a matter of tradition, trained for knighthood from the time she takes her first step. Roxy has never had the freedom to choose her own path, but she took to Pegasus riding like a duck to water, and has never been unhappy.

Where Roxy is exuberant, Rose is gloomy. Where Roxy’s talents garner praise, Rose’s talents only make her seem more intimidating. Rose loves and resents her sister in equal measure. As second-born, she had the luxury to pursue a career based on her own interests. Of course she could have opted for knighthood as well, but the flowing robes of the clergy makes concealing the family secret so much easier.

Roxy, prodigal child that she is, has never been burdened with the constant looming threat of retribution for her very existence. She’s never had to live with the knowledge that her birth is what led their mother to drink. And now, beautiful, sheltered Roxy is willing to throw away all her mother and sister’s efforts at giving her a prejudice-free life… for a _boy_.

Rose rubs the cursed mark on her ankle, wishing, as always, for it to go away.

There is a secret taint within one of Sienne’s oldest and most noble houses. Her name is Rose Lalonde.


	8. friend of nations

“The mighty Huntress stalks her prey in the dead of night. Slowly, she slinks toward her unsuspecting quarry...”

Ranulf bites back a chuckle as his sensitive ears pick up this whispered commentary. The local kids are always so rambunctious. It almost makes him feel old.

“But lo, not all was as it seemed,” he whispers back to his stalker in the bushes. “The Huntress’ prey was no mere mouse. He was… the infamous Pouncellor Greywhiskers!”

“Rawr!” The little kit roars as she leaps upon him, a crown of sticks and leaves upon her head. Nepeta sinks her fangs into his leather vest at the shoulder and says, voice muffled around the mouthful, “The Huntress knows fair well her target. Greywhiskers shall answer for his crimes!”

“Forsooth! What crimes?”

“Cat burglary, of course. The Huntress asks how the Pouncellor shall plea.” She smacks her tail against him.

“Hmph. Pouncellor Greywhiskers denies this charge. Is it burglary to steal naught but the hearts of Cats?”

“Nay, but it is burglary to steal the last of the tarts from the kitchens! …Says the Huntress.”

Drat, he’s been found out. Ranulf plucks the kitten off his back and ruffles her hair before setting her down. “Hey there, kitty-cat. What are you doing out so late? Besides missing out on a midnight snack by being just a _hairball_ too slow, eh? Eh?”

Nudge, nudge, resist urge to pinch chubby cheeks.

Ranulf sizes her up and thinks Nepeta is growing up well. What she lacks in size, being small even for a young Cat, she makes up for in spirit. She probably resents that he still treats her like a kid, but not so long ago she was just that. It’s already strange for him to think of his own subordinates as soldiers hardened on the front lines instead of stupid kids wrestling around in the forest like they were just a few years past. It’s a bit too much for him to accept little Nepeta’s coming of age as well.

There’s a deep divide in Ranulf’s mind between those who fought in the war and those who were too young, even by a year. As unfair as it is to those caught on that cusp, Ranulf insists it’s better for all involved if Gallia doesn’t become too focused on military might. Yes, Beast Tribe culture is warrior culture, but Ranulf has never been too keen on the old ways. As a diplomat, he believes that all nations should strive for whatever is best for the next generation.

It would be best for Nepeta if she could continue her roleplaying forever, and never have to know what it is like to tear out a man’s throat. He wishes he could return that innocence to Kyza and Lyre.

Ever keen to shifts in mood, Nepeta frowns. “Are you leaving soon? Again?”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “Treaties don’t just write themselves, you know.”

“I don’t understand why you push yourself so much,” she says. “I want to go on adventures too. I want to see beorc lands too. But is there no one here you would stay more than a fortnight for, not in all of Gallia?”

“Ha, is that what it looks like? No, that’s not it at all...” He shakes his head.

Peace is best. Demilitarization is best. Ranulf will fight and die for it like any other honorable Beast. But he is also the only one who can also put beorc at ease with smiles and soothing words. It’s Gallian nature to be abrasive; Ranulf is the only high-ranking officer who has any goddess damned _tact_ by the standards of other countries, and they _need_ him for this. Focusing on this gives him the strength to carry on, even when sometimes he is just so very tired. Even when sometimes he dreams of a different life, different choices made, and a journey that could have led him beyond the boundaries of the known world. 

...If only he could have left everything behind. Ah, if only.

Ranulf is everybody’s friend, but there has been only one man he called his _best_ friend. And that man is gone.

He doesn’t know if Nepeta will understand, but he says it anyway. “I could have gone with him, I think. There was probably room in his heart for one more traveling companion, if it was me… If it was me, he would have said yes.

“But I stayed. For Gallia. For our future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't be the only one who thought "What if Soren AND Ranulf went with Ike? What if Ike had x2 boyfriends???!?!?!!" Can I? No. I refuse to believe I'm the only one who thought this.
> 
> Playing FE Heroes makes me miss Ranulf. When are we getting Ranulf??? (Ike and Soren are on my main team. I mean come on. Of course they are.)
> 
> ...I'm still pissed that I've never pulled Sanaki. I NEED HER TO COMPLETE MY RADIANT TEAM??? Such are the woes of free players.


	9. fantastic beasts and how to ship them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Itty bitty green kitty and big blue tiger do their yes-no thing.

Ranulf is the _purrfect_ Cat. He’s strong and fast, terribly skilled, pawsomely fierce! Every Cat knows he’s the best fighter among them, and only Lethe even comes close to his level in terms of combat. Ranulf usually laughs when they pit him against Tigers, which is honestly just _so cool_. They’re bigger, but almost always much too slow to catch him. It gives her hope that one day she’ll be able to take down foes quadruple her size, too!

His laugh is so nice, and he’s so handsome… And he’s just so nice in general, and smart! Very smart! He’d have to be, since he became a trusted advisor of the king at a young age, and has now become Gallia’s main diplomat. He’s often gone now, be it for war or peace, and she misses having him around. His cat puns are brilliant, and he always indulges her roleplaying.

Nepeta sighs dreamily as she doodles in her notebook while hanging upside down, legs hooked tight around a tree branch. Her green-furred tail whips around listlessly before coiling around her waist when she flips – feet silently pushing off the branch – and lands on the grass below.

Her _meowrail_ , Equius, looks up from where he had been poring over the architectural diagrams spread out before him. He tilts his head to her. “Yes?”

“I figured it out – all of Ranulf’s quadrants!”

Equius frowns, but he’s always frowning so Nepeta pays it no mind. She reaches out pat his grumpy face, sprawling over him in the process. Tigers are really so much larger! Her feet don’t even touch the ground when she flops over his shoulder like this.

“I’m still not convinced quadrants are a thing,” Equius says.

“What? You’re not even going to let me explain my findings?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.” 

“Meanie! I’m going to tell you anyway, and you’re going to listen because we’re meowrails and our meow-allegiance is based on listening to each other.”

“I don’t even understand how you were able to coin ‘meowrails’ out of ‘meow-allegiance’.”

Linguistics is not Nepeta’s forte, unless counting feline puns, but she figures it’s the effort that counts. “That’s not impurrtant,” she says. “Ranulf is auspicious paw – the pawspistice! – for Lyre and Kyza. That’s common knowledge.”

“He stops them from… _catfighting_. And that’s considered a romance how?”

Nepeta squeals a little at the cat pun. She gives Equius a big hug for that, ignoring his skepticism. Equius has slight red feelings for Ranulf because _efurryone_ has slight red feelings for Ranulf, herself included. He gets a teensy bit jealous whenever his cousin Kyza is mentioned because they – Equius and Nepeta – are only just a bit younger than Kyza and Lyre. It’s no fair those two got the most coveted positions as Ranulf’s direct subordinates while Equius and Nepeta had to wait for the next mentor in line, which was… ugh. Equius’ other cousin. _Horuss_.

(It’s not that Horuss is terrible, but he’s boring, and it makes her die a little inside to have to call him Captain when they’re practically family. In Equius’ case: actually family.)

“It just is. The relationship takes a lot of effort to maintain, just like conventional mate-spirits do.”

“Ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous. It’s just part of his job as their commanding officer. Horuss would step in for us if we started fighting.”

“But it’s not the same because we’re not both in love with Horuss!” Nepeta realizes her poor choice of words when Equius looks sick at the thought. He begins to perspire profusely. “N-never mind that, I just mean all three of them have strong feelings about each other!”

Equius clears his throat – ahem, ahem – before deftly changing the subject. “And, if I am indulging your quadrant nonsense, who is his ‘mate-spirit’?”

“KING CAINEGHIS!”

Equius chokes on air. He gurgles something about impropriety and slandering their good king’s name, and “If His Majesty were to be involved with anyone in that manner, it should be Sir Giffca!” This is how Nepeta knows she’s won. She charges ahead with her theories before he can realize he’s become invested in defending a relationship that most likely isn’t real.

“And he has pitch _black cat_ feelings for Prince Skrimir–”

“Both the king and the prince?!”

“–because he’s always calling Skrimir an idiot and such but they still have good chemistry in battle, or so I’ve heard, and his meowrail is _Sir Ike the beorc hero!_ ”

“...ghhk,” says Equius.

This is the moment at which Nepeta should stop, but she doesn’t. She sees the opportunity to press on and on, far past Equius’ comfort zone because it’s her duty as his meowrail to help him become a better person. “I know because he just about told me last night, and then I pieced everything together. Ranulf’s been sad because his meowrail isn’t around anymore. Sir Ike chose to travel with his mate-spirit instead. And as to that, I overheard Prince Skrimir saying sometime before that it was a shame that his _purrecious_ ‘little beorc’ left with Sir Ike, which meant the ‘little beorc’ was destined to be the prince’s meowrail.”

“Hurrk,” says Equius.

“Prince Skrimir was courting the tactician, I know it to be so! Lyre told me he left kills in front of the man’s tent!”

Equius whimpers. “It’s too much… Such blasphemy… Nepeta. I command you to stop.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You will stop.”

“I will not.”

“You will not speak ill of the prince.”

“I _haven’t_. It’s not my fault you still think having relations with beorc is a crime.”

They’ve finally reached the heart of it. Equius crosses his arms defensively against his chest, no more words to be said on his part. He’s a good man and a good Tiger – the best of them, she thinks. It’s unfortunate but not unusual that he believes as he does about interracial courtships. The opinions of the Gallian populace remain largely the same as they ever were, despite recent events.

The jungle heat of their homeland settles thickly over everything. No wind blows. It all stays in place, weighed down in humidity and stifling tradition.

“I’m leaving,” she tells him. “When Ranulf goes, I’m going with him.”

“It’s too dangerous. I forbid it.”

“You can’t stop me, but you can come along. We’ll see who’s right about the beorc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for shitty puns.
> 
> (If I don't respond to comments in a timely manner, I'm probably on a plane.)


	10. Children of the Winds

It begins with tumbleweeds, dried sticks and bits of straw floating their way. Then the first blades of tough desert grass appear, growing greener and greener until they choke out all the sand beneath the travelers’ feet. The desert melds seamlessly into the high plains.

There’s a lake down there, and a town by its shores. They can see it clearly from the cliff’s edge.

“This view brings back memories,” Rafiel says.

Queen Nailah takes her consort’s hand. She gently nudges one of his pure white wings aside with her shoulder. Her voice a husky whisper, she says, “Yes. It does.”

Soren has grown used to seeing the odd bit of tenderness between his traveling companions. He, Ike, and Volug pay it no heed. Volug, especially, has had years at the Hatari court as well as that first trek he made across the desert just a few years prior, during the war.

The quiet wolf mumbles a few words in the ancient tongue, of which Soren catches only _scent_ and _home_. Despite months in the company of the wolves, who converse to each other in this language, Soren can’t help but continue to find it odd to hear those words spoken aloud. To him, the old tongue conjures memories of enchanted books and roiling, untapped anima. It’s a language he could recite before he could say a single word in Common, but only to call upon the wind. He rarely uses it to do anything other than destroy. To hear Volug’s sigh, or Nailah’s soft growl, is unbearably poetic.

As they make their leisurely descent into town, enjoying the crisp morning air still tinged with hints of the desert behind them, Soren, too, indulges in a rare bit of sentimentality. Silently, he breathes the wind into being. It curls around him and his traveling companions, darting between them before blowing away the last remnants of sand stuck to their hair and skin.

The wind, like Soren’s gaze, lingers always by Ike’s side.

* * *

“It looks like Hatari is located in a valley. They have no records of anyone crossing the mountains to the east, either. What do you think is on the other side?”

Two days into their stay at the capital, Ike is already scratching at his formal clothes as he pores over an aging map. They are wearing loose garments of silk and linen dyed in shades of ivory and cream. Soren actually finds Hatari’s court fashion to be less restrictive than any other formal clothing they’ve been stuffed into over the years. Knowing Ike, it’s probably the gilded accents on his tunic making him itch more than the fabric itself. Ike has apparently developed an allergy to aristocracy. (It’s not a surprise, given how many corrupt nobles they’ve ripped apart.)

Soren hums, briefly glancing up from his own scroll – a treatise on magical theory as the Hatari teach it. “More lands, more people… perhaps the sea?” he muses. “It’d be best if we learned more of the old tongue before setting off again.”

Ike flushes a bit and scratches the back of his head. “Sorry if I seem too eager to leave. It’s just… you know.”

“I know.”

They had feasted on the day of their arrival, with the people of Hatari all shouting praises to the Goddess for the safe return of the wolf queen and her heron consort. It hadn’t escaped their notice that there were two strange men at the queen’s side who could not easily communicate in their language. Even though they hadn’t commanded nearly as much attention as Nailah, the curious gazes directed their way were still enough to make Ike feel uncomfortable.

What does one do after defeating a goddess and saving the known world? When they had just been the small band of mercenaries who turned the tides of a war between two of the smaller nations on Tellius, it had been possible for them to retreat back into the countryside in the aftermath. Now, there most likely isn’t a single village in all of Tellius that they could hide in. Everyone recognizes the face of their hero.

Soren is far from anonymous as well. Before they left for Hatari, he had become exceedingly sought-after for his skills, though he had declined all offers. The dragons, too, had taken to giving him long looks. They hid it poorly, but Soren preferred letting them think he hadn’t noticed. Perhaps with the knowledge that the goddess had never intended to shun the Branded, they had been thinking of reclaiming him as kin? Is that the nature of his laguz heritage – dragon? It must be, yet it matters not. They never asked him, perhaps already knowing Soren would have refused them as well. He has never and will never serve anyone other than Ike.

“We should leave the castle soon,” Ike says. “I want to explore the rest of Hatari.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Yeah. Not that I’m not grateful for the hospitality, but I can’t wait for it to be just us again.”

* * *

This far to the north, the winters are said to be just as cold as the high mountains of Daein. It would be dangerous to travel further; they are nearly at the frontier villages as it is, and beyond those are mountains so treacherous that any who have successfully completed the crossing have never come back to relay the tale.

They find a hut at the outskirts of the last town. It’s a little worn, but salvageable. The townspeople say it had belonged to a trapper whose son had not wanted to continue the family trade. It will be a fine place to overwinter.

The shed is still full of tools, including an axe which Ike has taken to find wood for repairs. Soren sets off in another direction to gather the last of autumn’s herbs. In times of peace, there’s not much need for the war strategies and battle magic which are his greatest strengths. If they were in any other nation, Soren would then offer himself as a clerk or accountant. Unfortunately, he is only half-literate in this dialect of the old tongue which continues to dominate isolated Hatari. The last choice, and his least favored, is this: to become the local physician and apothecary.

Soren lacks finesse with healing staves, but he more than makes up for it with sheer magical strength. It’s not healing as a discipline that he finds objectionable. Rather, it’s his, as he’s often been told, absolute lack of bedside manners. Soren always says what he means. Others may find him rude, though that is usually not his main intent. He adheres to his own brand of integrity by always being brutally honest. Those who can’t abide by his advice just because it wasn’t delivered on a bed of rose petals and simpering platitudes are fools, simple as that. He has entirely the wrong sort of temperament to deal with people all day.

Luckily for him, the town’s last healer had been a reclusive hedge witch whom they speak of only in hushed tones. “Snippy half-dragon foreigner” is a step up for them.

As he makes his way deeper into the forest, carefully leaving snapped branches to guide himself back, Soren feels a wisp of wind brush past his cheek. It’s a chilly autumn day, so a breeze should not be strange, were it not… warm. Too warm.

It reeks of magic.

The further he goes, the more sure he becomes. There is another mage in these woods. 

His thoughts turn toward the hedge witch, who had not been seen for months, nearly a year now. Could it be she still lived? Could it be that her magic felt so immature?

Wind is Soren’s element, a part of his soul. He can sense that this other caster is inexperienced. Even a self-taught mage would not cast in this way if they had been practicing for decades as the witch had. It’s probably an apprentice.

He should consider the mystery solved; he should turn back. Wild mages can be unpredictable. They tend to be much more creatively dangerous than their academy-trained counterparts. Soren would know – he used to be one himself. It’s a combination of curiosity and self-confidence that leads him forward regardless.

Another gust of wind blows past him. This time, it doubles back as if just having sensed him. The wind whips back around to ruffle his dark traveling robes and send the long tail of his hair flying behind him. The other mage has not tried to cut him, so Soren answers by sending a gust of his own, probing forward to try to find the other source of power.

He hears a laugh, joyous and young. Too young to command such power unless… Soren shakes away the thoughts of his old master, who had worked him night and day, screamed insults and threatened to beat him until he could perform basic spells proficiently at only five years old.

The wind leads him to a clearing where a little girl is dancing in the center of a tiny storm of her own creation. A battered wind tome lies at her bare feet, opened to a page of simple glyphs. Upon seeing his arrival, she pulls the magic back to herself, molding the remnants into a sphere and breaking it to dissipate the excess energy.

She looks at him expectantly, eyes wide and far too trusting. Her dark hair is long and unkempt; she is dressed in rags. There’s a metal collar around her neck, as if she’s a slave… or a dog. 

Strangest of all are the white wolf ears and tail. Laguz mages are nearly unheard of. With the exception of the herons, the other tribes take their warrior culture so seriously that all beorc methods of fighting are outlawed. Swordsmanship is a banned art. No iron may be used to attack others, only teeth and claws, beaks and talons.

Hatari is not so strict, but even here Soren had yet to see any wolf mages. This girl is the first. It appears her master was a sick fuck.

“Hello,” Soren begins haltingly in the old tongue. “Forgive the intrusion. I sensed your magic...”

The girl nods, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. She waves her arms at him in gestures he can’t understand.

Cocking his head to the side, Soren tries again. “I am Soren, a traveler. And you?”

She points to herself and opens her mouth to speak, then stops. Her ears flatten against her skull and she begins to whine like a kicked puppy. Eventually, after biting her lips and clutching her own tail in a death grip, she tries again.

“Zhe! Jay! I… Jade.” 

“Jade.”

She nods frantically.

“Do you live here alone?”

A whine, a nod. Jade points to a spot a few meters away where there is a mound. A stick has been stabbed into he ground, and a pointed hat set on top. The resting place of the hedge witch, then.

The mystery has _definitely_ been solved by now, and Jade is no threat. He should take his leave of her.

She doesn’t matter, he tries to tell himself. Ike is the only person who matters. Soren has all he needs: Ike and the winds. He doesn’t need anything else complicating or disrupting their lives.

He nods to her and prepares to turn around, only… Only his feet won’t move.

 _‘Why does Ike matter? Why is Ike your only friend?’_ his traitorous mind thinks. _‘Because he saved you when no one else would even look at you. Because he reached out to you when you were just like her. What would he think if he saw you now, turning your back on her, on yourself?’_

Jade is older than Soren was, but he sees his past in her. She’s too skinny. Her master has died, and she has worked through all the rations in the hut. For now, she seems to be supplementing her diet with the small garden patch and foraging in the forest. Come winter, she’ll journey into town to beg for scraps.

Yes, the beorc and laguz live in harmony in Hatari. She won’t be utterly ignored like Soren was in Gallia. Still, it’s hard to imagine she would be treated kindly. Even if someone were to take her in, they wouldn’t allow her to continue her magic education. They’d tell her laguz only fight with teeth and claws. She’d never be allowed to speak to the winds again, and isn’t that sort of torture just as bad? Soren can’t imagine having the winds silenced. He won’t let it happen to her, either.

Soren turns away. He starts heading back. At her piteous whine, he looks back at her and says, impatiently, “Well? What are you waiting for?”

Jade yips happily and bounds after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I didn’t have plans for Ike and Soren… maybe because I love them too much and wanted to leave their fate open-ended like it is in the epilogue. But I couldn’t contain myself. I love them too much and want to spread the love~!
> 
> Basically, these guys deserve far more attention/credit than they receive. I guess it’s because the FE fandom wasn’t as big when their games came out, and the games had a smaller lgbt-friendly audience back in the day. BUT I feel that everyone should know that Ike is the first main character of a first-party-developed popular mainstream video game… whose default romantic relationship is with another man. No one ever questions their masculinity or expresses confusion or disgust that the general is shacking up with his strategist. THEY ARE CANON AND IT IS GLORIOUS. 
> 
> Also, they’re both kind of emotionally dumb. I think they’re beautiful together, haha… Like, they’re both super blunt guys, and all they want is to live a simple life but all these stupid things keep getting in the way, like assholes comin’ in out of nowhere to murder your father, evil goddesses turning everyone into stone, dumbass dragon family and all the drama that comes with that because dragons… I could totally see them as a hermit couple in the woods somewhere. Fuck people. Call us when the next apocalypse hits and you need someone to do some god-killing. Until then, git off our lawn.
> 
> Wolf!Jade was always going to be a thing at some point. I think I had planned for her to be distantly related to Nailah, them both being white wolves and all. But then I was like, “Nah, Jade’s not a princess! She’s a wild child surviving off a pumpkin patch. And she’s a dog-witch. I now proclaim these aspects of canon to be inviolable.”
> 
> JADE IS THE PERFECT ~~DAUGHTER~~ DOGTER FOR THEM AND YOU CAN’T CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE.


End file.
